


The Taste of Leather

by faedreamer



Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: Blindfolds, Bondage, Deepthroating, Harry Hart Lives, Leather Kink, Light BDSM, M/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Post V-Day, Praise Kink, Slight objectification, Spanking, Subspace, Suit Kink, eggsy is a good boy, slight breathplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-16
Updated: 2016-08-16
Packaged: 2018-07-28 22:17:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7658926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/faedreamer/pseuds/faedreamer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry Hart in leather gloves spending a rare evening off worshiping his beloved boy. Mind the tags, it gets fetish-y up in here!</p><p>~ written for the Hartwin Secret Santa 2016</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Taste of Leather

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Renai_chan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Renai_chan/gifts).



> for the lovely Renai_chan. I'm sorry I didn't use any of your prompts, but I did my best to pull heavily from your likes/dislikes and hopefully have written a story you will enjoy! <3

It starts with the smell of it.

Harry’s hands after a mission - which is the only time he wears those gloves - smell of leather. Deep and rich, with the tang of gun oil and the lingering acrid odor of gunpowder. It’s a unique combination that reeks of danger and a dark assassin. His dark assassin.

Eggsy begins to associate that smell with arousal, because what could be sexier than Harry and his hands when he’s pumped full of adrenaline, having been to the edge of life and death and back again one more time, when he reaches for Eggsy and won’t take no for an answer - as if Eggsy has ever told him no since the day they met?

Big hands. Strong hands. Eggsy puts all of himself into those hands and never once fears.

“Hands up, love.” Harry taps a spot against the wall above Eggsy’s head and Eggsy lifts both arms, placing his wrists in Harry’s long-fingered hand, shivering at the kiss of warm leather against his skin. His obedience earns him a sweet kiss that ends in a sharp bite to his lower lip, making him hiss and arch. Harry chuckles low under his breath and the sound makes Eggsy weak.

“I missed you,” he confesses. He misses him every day, every night, when he’s home and when he’s not. It’s more often not these days. The world is chaos since V-Day and he and Harry are rarely in the same hemisphere, let alone the same room.

Times like these, when he can be in Harry’s arms, in Harry’s _hands_ , are the breath in his lungs all the moments he isn’t. He knows, _knows_ , that they are the same for Harry, this beautiful, strong, capable and yes, dangerous man that he loves. Harry Hart lives for him and it feeds Eggsy’s soul to know it.

“Did you, my sweet boy?” Harry’s voice is soft, rich, and Eggsy turns his face up towards it like he is the sun. In some ways, perhaps he is.

Eggsy nods, eyes closed though with the sash across his eyes it wouldn’t matter if they were open or not. Sight is an ephemeral thing and he doesn’t need it to know there is a smile on Harry’s lips, and love in his eyes.

“More than anything.”

Harry’s touch on his cheek is gentle, leather-clad thumb stroking his cheekbone, down along his jaw and over his lower lip. It takes everything in Eggsy not to stretch his tongue out and draw it inside. He just wants something, _anything_ \- some part of Harry in him. He’s so empty, has been so empty since the last time they’d had this.

“Please,” he whispers, though he knows it’s useless. Harry will give him what he wants when he wants, and not a moment sooner. Eggsy knows that. Still he will beg - more because Harry loves to hear him do so than because it will get him anywhere. Not everything is about getting what you want - sometimes the act alone is worth the price of admission.

This time, however, he _does_ get what he wants and lets out a grateful moan when that warm thumb sinks between his lips and Eggsy is allowed to taste him. Taste Harry and his leather and everything he has been without for so long that it feels like an eternity.

“My very good boy,” Harry murmurs, and his lips brush Eggsy’s temple. The gesture is small, tender and makes tears sting behind Eggsy’s closed lids. His breath hiccups with emotion, and in response Harry’s fingers around his wrists tighten, grounding him, the touch of discomfort like an anchor telling him he is not alone. He is safe, he is in Harry’s hands.

There’s no safer place in this entire world. For Eggsy at least. Which is part of the appeal, he thinks. Knowing that these hands - these deadly, clever, skilled hands that hold him so gently and sometimes so roughly, are for him a haven while for others, they are penance for crimes too dark to speak of.

How many lives have been snuffed out by these hands since he last felt them on his body? He doesn’t know and he doesn’t care. These hands belong to him. And he belongs to them.

He knows the room is dark, but can catch the flicker of a warm glow through the fine fabric covering his eyes and thinks Harry’s lit candles. The thought makes his tummy curl pleasantly. There are moments when Harry Hart is an utter romantic. That those moments often come while he is also at his roughest and most intense always sends a thrill through Eggsy. His love is a man of utter contradiction and never ceases to fascinate.

And then Harry’s hands are gone and Eggsy freezes, still against the wall. He knows Harry is only a breath away, but without his sight and without Harry’s hands to anchor him, he feels adrift and he turns his head, listening.

Relief floods him at the sound of a belt clinking, his cock swelling in response like Pavlov’s dog. He swears he can smell Harry’s arousal as he listens to him slide the belt free of his pants. But he doesn’t hear the telltale sound of a zipper and knows Harry’s not getting naked yet. No, that’s just for Eggsy right now, stripped bare the moment Harry walked in the door and will remain that way until Harry chooses otherwise. Likely not until the moment before he has to leave again.

“Give me your hands, together.” Harry’s voice is still directly in front of him and Eggsy lowers his arms, extending his hands obediently. They are swiftly bound together with the leather of Harry’s belt, warm where it’s been so close to his body. Eggsy’s heart races, licking his suddenly dry lips as anticipation floods him. He has no idea what Harry is going to do, but he knows he will love it. He always does.

“Knees.” Like a caress, the word sweeps over him and Eggsy sinks to the carpet without hesitation. Harry’s hand feathers lightly over his hair. “Good boy. Open.”

He’s trembling now, not with fear but arousal. His head goes slightly swimmy as his lips part and the taste of leather again floods his mouth as Harry this time slides two gloved fingers against his tongue. They don’t go too deep - though they might at some point, Harry likes to hear him gasp for breath and see the sash across his eyes go damp with tears. Eggsy’s cock throbs heavy between his thighs and he has to forcefully stop himself from shifting restlessly, dizzy with arousal.

For a moment that’s all Harry does, slide his fingers slowly, deliberately along Eggsy’s tongue, thumb against his chin occasionally stroking in a gentle caress. It’s rhythmic and seductive and making him light-headed. He _loves_ it.

And then he hears the zipper. God help him, the faint rasp, the slow snick of it lowering inch by inch. Eggsy’s can’t help it, he whimpers and his mouth waters. Harry laughs, the sound affectionate and amused. He knows exactly what he’s doing to him and, like Eggsy, he fucking _loves_ it.

They are a match made for each other. In heaven or hell or somewhere in between, Eggsy doesn’t know, but here they are, perfect in tandem and he is too grateful to try to figure out the logistics of _why_ it works so well. All he knows is he’s never felt anything like the way he feels with Harry and he’d lay down his life to keep it.

There is a brief moment, as Harry eases the head of his cock into Eggsy’s mouth, that both his fingers and his cock occupy the same space and it’s a stretch and a feeling of overwhelming fullness that reminds him of the first time Harry taught him to deep throat and Eggsy’d been so sure he couldn’t do it, it was too much. If there is anything Harry’s taught him it is that there is never such a thing as too much.

And then his fingers are gone, damp leather now cupped under his chin to guide Eggsy in a slow, deep motion up and down along the full length of Harry’s cock. He doesn’t blink at the push and the thickness in his throat now, eyes closing as he concentrates on evening his breathing, only on the out never on the in, steady and calm, allowing Harry to guide, trusting him to know precisely how long he can stay deep before Eggsy has to breathe.

Like the fingers, it’s a slow, rhythmic, dizzying sensation and Eggsy allows himself to fall so easily into it, into the headspace where his only responsibility is to please his Harry. He thrives on it, is good at it, revels in the praise Harry murmurs to him. He is a good boy, he is so sweet, he is beautiful and good and Harry loves him so. All of that far more important than something as trivial as air, he will sooner allow blackness to take him than pull away now. All that matters is Harry.

Until Harry’s cock is gone and Harry’s mouth is on his and he’s pulled back to the surface by hands in leather gloves. Hands he trusts with his life, has since the moment they met.

When the blindfold disappears, Harry tossing it aside, Eggsy smiles up at him and Harry kisses his smiling lips again before pulling him to his feet, steadying him as they move across the room. As he’s guided down across Harry’s lap, Eggsy’s heart kicks up and he braces his leather bound hands against the mattress of the bed where Harry’s sat, cock hard and leaking against the fine fabric of Harry’s suit pants. He’s still dressed, a thing that makes Eggsy even hotter than he already was. There is something delicious that he cannot explain about the feeling of grinding out an orgasm against a beautiful bespoke pinstripe. Better yet if it’s done while his arse is warmed red and tender by those fucking _hands_.

His hips shift, twisting slightly, rocking to give himself just a touch of friction. Harry lets him - which he doesn’t always, sometimes insisting that Eggsy take his spanking in stoic silence, unmoving and with no promise of pleasure at the end. But those are times when he’s been bad. Today he’s been good, so good, Harry’s told him so and so Harry lets him grind against his thigh, cock staining it wet and sticky.

Maybe, before the night is over, Harry will let Eggsy suck that spot clean, telling him that good boys must clean up their messes. He shudders deep inside, breath shaky. He’s so busy imagining drawing the fine fabric against his tongue and tasting himself that he doesn’t know the first smack is coming until the leather connects with his ass, all the strength of Harry’s lean muscles behind it, sending a flare of heat and ache through him.

He cries out, attention sufficiently drawn and breathes out a shaky, “One, sir.” Harry likes it when he counts. Eggsy does too. It grounds him, reminds him that a spanking from Harry is different. It’s Harry. It’s measured, counted, every blow given with a purpose and also that there is an ending.

He hadn’t really understood that the first time he’d asked if Harry would to spank him. Eggsy wants it and always has, seems like...the harsh crack, the blooming pain, the bruises afterwards...but sometimes for the wrong reasons, Harry says. Because it feels safe? Normal? Harry says maybe because Eggsy hasn’t known anything different his whole life. So Harry gives him what he needs, but there are always rules. Limits. And Eggsy doesn’t think of Dean anymore. Only Harry. Only ever Harry and his beautiful, perfect hands.

Harry doesn’t just spank, though. His hand wanders between each strike, squeezing, spreading Eggsy’s cheeks apart. Eggsy’s heart races, teeth catching his lower lip. The cool air against his entrance is erotic, a little humiliating, knowing Harry is just...looking at him there. Eggsy knows what he’s thinking, too. And sure enough, around the count of twelve, Eggsy hears the sound of a bottle being snapped open and the cool, liquid slide of lube against his hole.

Oh fuck. Fuck...he wriggles, hissing softly and trying to spread his legs as best he can without unbalancing himself, bent as he is across Harry’s lap. Not that Harry needs his help, gloved fingers prying his cheeks apart and sliding slick up and down the cleft of his ass. Eggsy moans, head dropping, body trembling.

“Do you want it?” Harry asks. He must know the answer. Harry likes to hear him ask, though.

So Eggsy nods, glancing back over his shoulder. “Yes, please, sir. I want it.”

Harry’s expression is at once affectionate and deviant. As if he can’t decide whether to kiss Eggsy or make him come until he can’t move. Eggsy really, _really_ hopes for both.

What he gets is the slow, firm push of one slick, gloved finger breaching his entrance, pressing shallowly inside him in small increments. It makes his skin pop up with gooseflesh, shivers racing down his spine. It’s a different sensation, the leather inside him, than just Harry’s bare finger or bare cock. The material clings and pulls slightly on the withdraw, as though it is reluctant to leave his body. The way Harry is reluctant to leave him every time they have to part. Which happens more often now than either would like.

Eggsy moans, forehead dropping to his arms where they are folded against the mattress. His cock aches and leaks against Harry’s pants and he trembles again imagining tasting that fabric if Harry lets him. That’s the part Eggsy loves the best. Harry letting him. Harry deciding. Most people assume he hates authority, hates people telling him what to do. He doesn’t. He hates people who don’t care about him having control, taking it from him.

But Harry. Harry adores him. Harry would die for him. Eggsy will give him every ounce of himself, his body and soul, and trust that it is in the safest hands possible. Because Harry loves him and he’s earned the right to have whatever he wants of Eggsy. And Harry wants it all, always has.

“Harry…”

“Yes, my boy?”

“Tell me.”

Harry doesn’t need to ask what. His free hand smooths gently up Eggsy’s back, gloved fingers sinking into his hair at the nape and fisting gently but firmly. “You are such a good boy. My very good boy. I am so proud of you.”

The words are like a drug in his veins, Harry’s approval and pride washing over him in waves that echo the orgasm he knows is coming if he keeps right on being a good boy for him. Sometimes he thinks the pleasure of making Harry proud is better than any orgasm. Until, that is, Harry gives him one because the orgasms Harry gives are something beyond anything he’s ever experienced. Not with anyone else or at his own hands, either. Harry can play his body the same way he can take down a room full of enemies - all smooth grace and precise movements, hitting all the weakest spots without hesitation, to accomplish exactly what he wants - for Eggsy, unrivaled pleasure. For the enemies...death or simply extraordinary amounts of pain.

Eggsy knows he shouldn’t find that side of Harry as sexy as he does, but if he’s honest it’s the reason Merlin stopped pairing them together on missions. They kept fucking instead of extracting themselves from whatever location they were infiltrating.

Eggsy flinches slightly as a second finger sinks into him, the leather gloves giving them a touch more girth than usual and stretching him quicker than he’s used to. The sting is just as good, though, that razor edge that makes his knees weak and his heart race. Because Harry can give pain as well as pleasure - has, many times - and Eggsy sometimes doesn’t know which he’s going to get. He knows he’s safe, though. Whichever Harry chooses on a given night, which makes it all perfect to him.

But Harry hasn’t chosen pain tonight, Eggsy can tell when he feels extra lube sliding over his hole, between Harry’s fingers, making him extra slippery and easing the way for one more finger.

“Tell me how it feels,” Harry demands, fingers thrusting now, with deep, driving force into him, jolting with each movement, and what Eggsy wouldn’t give for a hand on his cock. His or Harry’s, it doesn’t matter. But he doesn’t dare try to reach for himself, because Harry hasn’t shown any interest in allowing him to come yet, so he fists his hands into the sheets and groans.

“So good...Harry please,” he gasps, hips shifting, trying to lift to meet his fingers.

“Please what, love?”

Eggsy’s chest tightens at the endearment, turning his head to press his face against Harry’s stomach. “Please touch me?”

Harry’s fingers in his hair gentle and smooth through the strands, for a second holding Eggsy’s cheek against his abdomen where it rests. The tenderness makes his heart stutter.

“Ask me again,” Harry demands, fingers withdrawing so he can give Eggsy another firm crack on his ass. Eggsy whimpers, teeth sinking lightly into Harry’s abs through his shirt with a groan.

“ _Please_ ,” he begs, panting softly. “I need it. Please, I need you to touch me, really touch me. It hurts…” His cock feels like it’ll explode if Harry _does_ touch him.

Harry makes a quiet, considering sound, one finger back to teasing his hole. “Hmm. Do you want me to touch your aching cock or do you want me to spank you more and then fuck your red little arse?”

Eggsy lets out a frantic groans, panting harder now. Oh god. He hates when Harry does this. Makes him choose in what seems to be an impossible decision. He wants _both_ and Harry knows it, but if he doesn’t answer or says ‘both’, Eggsy knows he’ll get neither, at least not for a while. He lets out a soft sob of frustration, eyes squeezing shut.

The answer is obvious, really. “I...I want you to spank me more then...then fuck me. But...”

Harry cracks his ass again. “No buts. You’ve made your choice, be a good lad and don’t be greedy.”

Eggsy whines, lifting his ass to meet Harry’s hard, stinging blows. “I _am_ greedy,” he counters, a rush of brat surging in him. Sometimes he just can’t help himself. “It’s your fault, anyway.”

Harry chuckles, pausing between spanks to sink his three fingers deep inside Eggsy again, making him hiss at the burn of sudden penetration. Feels so good, damn him. “My fault, is it? And just what did I do to cause your wicked behavior?”

Eggsy shifts his hips, clenching around Harry’s fingers, trying to keep them inside just a little longer. If he can just get them a little deeper, a little harder...he can maybe come all on his own without ever being touched. It’s very bad to try and steal an orgasm, but maybe worth the punishment. Sometimes the punishment itself is worth committing the crime.

It takes him a few seconds of squirming and losing himself in the pleasure to remember that Harry asked a question. He tries to catch his breath, tries to focus. “I...you just...dammit, Harry, you know whatcha do! Make me crave, don’t ya? Just look at me like so or say my name that certain way, all low and sexy like it tastes good or somethin’...or like I do.” His train of thought derails right there and he moans, rocking against Harry’s thigh. “Do I? Taste good, Harry?”

Harry’s lashes flutter just slightly, like he’s maybe remembering, like the flavor of Eggsy is bursting on his tongue in some kind of sensory recollection and Eggsy hopes it’s driving him crazy, hopes maybe he’s making Harry want as much as he does.

“You taste like heaven, my sweet boy. You know it.”

Eggsy’s smile is unrepentant and cheeky. “Like hearing you say it, though. Wanna suck me off? Let me finish in your mouth so you can taste me the whole rest of the time?” It’s a cheap ploy and Eggsy knows it, but damn, he wants to come so bad and Harry looks like he just might give in for the chance to taste him.

Harry seems to consider it for a moment, fingers slowing their rough movements. “Are you sure that’s what you want?”

There’s a tone to the question, one that makes Eggsy’s senses stand up on edge, and he hesitates. Harry’s amused smile tells him he’s just saved himself from more torment than he really wants tonight. He shakes his head.

“No, sir. I want whatever you want.” It’s the safest answer, and one that has never let him down in all the time they’ve been together. Harry has never left Eggsy wanting, even a punishment eventually ends with all the pleasure Eggsy can stand and then some. He shakes his head again, reaffirming his decision. “No, sir, I’m sorry.”

Harry rewards him with a firm twist of his fingers, hitting Eggsy’s prostate with a direct, determined stroke that sends shockwaves through him, making his thighs shake and his hips buck. “There’s my good, obedient boy. You know I’ll give you the pleasure you’re after, don’t you?”

Eggsy nods frantically, breath rushing from him when Harry’s fingers withdraw and a second later there’s a sharp crack across his bare ass. Ohhh, it feels so bad and so good at the same time. Sometimes he wonders how he ended up here - a spy, powerful in his own right, lover of the most fascinating man he’s ever met, and yet also small and dominated and a beloved, cherished possession of a real life avenging angel. He never, ever would have dreamed this would become his life, but he wouldn’t change it for anything.

The next thing he knows, the whole room is upended as he’s turned and borne back onto the bed, Harry over him now, one hand between them to shove his pants down around his thighs. Eggsy’s heart leaps into his throat as realization hits him and he spreads his thighs, panting in anticipation - Harry’s going to fuck him now and he feels literally light headed with the rush of almost frantic desire. It feels like he’s been on the edge for hours, though it’s probably only been half an hour at most. Need for Harry will do that to him, turn seconds into weeks, days into years.

Eggsy brings his own hands - still bound with Harry’s belt - between them and tugs furiously at Harry’s suit - no longer the turn on it’d been just moments before, now it’s a barrier between him and the reward he’s earned for being such a good boy.

He’s mid-growl, two buttons already lost when Harry laughs breathlessly and finally helps him, stripping his jacket off and then his shirt is gone, too and Eggsy lets out a grateful sob, lifting his head to press his face into Harry’s warm, slightly furred, beautiful chest, cheek to the skin, that familiar strong heartbeat racing under his ear, telling him that Harry is just as wild with need as Eggsy is.

“Harry, please,” he gasps out, hips lifting as his head drops back to the mattress and he stares up into brown eyes so hot with desire. “Please, now…”

And god, Eggsy loves him when he realizes Harry isn’t taking the gloves off, catching Eggsy’s still-bound hands and lacing their fingers against the mattress high above Eggsy’s head. Harry’s cock slides against his entrance, hot and wet, and Eggsy’s practically thrumming in anticipation when the head catches on his rim, Harry adjusts his position a fraction and...sinks in balls deep in one long, smooth stroke.

It’s heaven. Fucking heaven, the stretch and burn and deep down ache that tells him he’s complete for what feels like the first time in forever. His eyes burn with emotion and he clings to Harry’s strong hands as they begin to move together. Hard, slow, Harry’s eyes locked with his. It’s just this side of too much and he knows that at any moment Harry might tip them both over the edge and that would be heaven, too.

There’s no words, nothing to say when there’s no air to breathe, let alone speak. And just like earlier, Eggsy trusts Harry to know the precise moment when Eggsy needs his breath back - not a moment too late or a moment too soon.

And when it shifts, when Harry tips them past the edge of too much and into madness, Eggsy finds himself astride Harry suddenly, hands loosed, given free rein - a thing he savors as much as he does being restrained. Because it means Harry wants to be the one to let go for a moment, to trust Eggsy to get them where they both want to go.

Harry’s trust is a thing that Eggsy never imagined would be as powerful as it is. At moments like these, he holds the most powerful man he’s ever known right in the palm of his hand and he cherishes it.

“I love you,” he gasps, hands bracing back on Harry’s thighs and he lets his head fall back, his hips working hard and fast now, driving them both wild toward orgasm. He’s been a good boy and Harry’s been the best bad he can be, they’ve both earned what’s coming and Eggsy’s got no interest in waiting anymore.

Harry doesn’t repeat the words, but Eggsy doesn’t need him to. He hears it in every shaky breath Harry lets out, in the way he arches, throat corded and chest taut, gleaming with sweat. Eggsy looks down his own body at Harry and it’s moments like this that he feels one hundred percent certain that he is exactly where he was always meant to be.

And then Harry’s hands are there, drawing him down against his chest, gloves gone and it’s just what Eggsy needs at that moment, when the whole world is splintering. Harry’s hands on his skin, warm and real, anchoring him, holding him, guiding him. Ever since he was five years old, these hands have been the one constant place he could call home.

He can only hold on, then, and when it’s over, when they’re laying in a tangle gasping for breath and slick with sweat and come, Eggsy lays his cheek against Harry’s chest and lets the wild staccato of his heartbeat lull him back into the real world.

In the morning there will be briefings with Merlin on their next missions, hurried packing and even more hurried goodbyes. But tonight, that’s not the world they live in and neither of them plan to waste a single moment on something as overrated as sleep.

End.


End file.
